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The war for the poor

In the run-up to next year’s general election, poverty is back at the heart of political debate. In

Not long ago, I accompanied a group of teenagers from one of the most deprived areas of South Yorkshire on a day out. A local charity had invited the youngsters to go orienteering and rock climbing. It was a lovely, sunny day, and most of the dozen or so kids threw themselves into the activities. But there was one boy, Daniel, who didn't seem to fit in.

Daniel was pale and obese, and arrived clutching an inhaler in one hand. He wasn't sure whether he could cope with outdoor pursuits, because of his weak ankles and a badly bruised foot. He said that he lived with his disabled mother, who had run him over on her mobility scooter during a trip to Tesco.

No one seemed particularly surprised by Daniel's health-related misfortunes. He lived in a once prosperous pit village that had floundered since the mines closed. As joblessness had become endemic in the area, so had ill health. A fifth of its working-age population was on incapacity benefit - four times the proportion that was unemployed. An older generation that had inherited trades and work ethics from its own parents had been left with little to pass on but health defects.

The links between poverty and sickness are well documented. Children from the poorest families are twice as likely to die before the age of 15 as those from the wealthiest, and are two and a half times as likely to have chronic health problems. Less well documented, however, is an alarming trend in the number of young people on disability benefits. The statistics are stark. While the overall number of those on disability benefits has dropped by 2 per cent since 2003, the number of claimants under the age of 25 has risen by two-thirds, from 80,000 to 134,000. A similar pattern has appeared across Europe - in the Netherlands, Spain and Switzerland, as well as in eastern Europe and Scandinavia.

Why is this? Surely Labour's attempts to alleviate poverty should have led to corresponding improvements in health? Although the government's pledge to halve child poverty by 2010 will not be met, approximately 600,000 children have been lifted out of poverty. And health statistics tend to show the nation generally, and children in particular, getting healthier. Yet the number of young people claiming sickness benefits continues to rise.

The deprivation map

My initial attempts to make sense of this conundrum led to confusion and even denial. Lurking in the background of every conversation seemed to be the feeling that even to talk about the issue could amount to an admission that claimants were lazy, feckless or dishonest. My approaches to organisations that dealt with young people's rights elicited little response, or simply a refusal to recognise that such a phenomenon even existed. "Government policy is to put pressure on claimants to come off of sickness and disability benefits," wrote one welfare rights worker. Another added: "We are, of course, in the midst of a recession, so the numbers claiming all benefits would be likely to increase."

This last correspondent did seem to have a point. The numbers of young people on Disability Living Allowance (DLA), which is for those with long-term care needs or poor mobility, had been increasing steadily and had doubled since 2003. But the pattern among those on incapacity benefit, for those unable to work, was different. It had dropped for several years, but began to rise rapidly in the autumn of 2008 - just when the recession hit.
So, was the increase in the numbers on sickness benefits in some way related to youth unemployment? Could benefits advisers even have been encouraged to push claimants towards incapacity benefit or its recent replacement, the Employment and Support Allowance (ESA), to keep them off the unemployment statistics?

I visited Lancashire. Its welfare rights service was rightly proud of its efforts to ensure that those entitled to benefits got them. One problem, they said, was that both the poorest and the wealthiest were reluctant to claim. In Chorley, a pretty town with only slightly more than its fair share of discount shops and mobility-aid stores, I met Joe Wilson, a welfare rights worker with a quarter of a century's experience under his belt. "That's a depressing thought," he remarked, as he ushered me into a tiny, windowless room.

Wilson, who was about to hold a benefits advice session, thought there were several possible reasons for the rise in young people on sickness benefits. A major factor, he said, was that Jobcentre Plus staff were offloading applicants to other departments by sending clients to get sick notes and apply for ESAs. "If you're working at the Jobcentre and you're overrun, there's an incentive to get them on to the ESA because then their file is off your desk," he explained. Most are judged fit at their medical, but continue to receive the benefit while they wait months for an appeal hearing. Eventually, they go back to claiming Jobseekers' Allowance.

Yet such mechanistic explanations didn't explain why the numbers of young claimants were rising so much faster than the numbers of older claimants. Even though unemployment had risen fastest among the young, the number on these benefits had risen faster still.

Sitting in on Wilson's advice session, I began to sense the complexity of the issue and the deeper social change that was contributing to it. First up was Mary, who had moderate learning difficulties, worked in a supported job in a factory and claimed a low level of DLA. She had been in special schools and in care as a child. She had no family and struggled with daily life.

Then came Colin, who sometimes felt anxious, and occasionally had a bad back. He had been on incapacity benefit, but it had been stopped. He was appealing. "My doctor has no problem giving me sick notes, but the benefits people don't seem to believe me," he explained. "I don't think I was in the medical more than ten minutes."

Neither Mary nor Colin was incapable of work. "Colin would have worked in a warehouse, moving stuff around. Or in construction," said Wilson. "When there used to be a manufacturing sector, there were low-grade labouring jobs for people with mild learning difficulties. You needed someone to sweep the factory floor. Those jobs don't exist any more."

What next?

A picture was beginning to emerge that made sense. Were young people with mild disabilities becoming stuck because the labour market just didn't have a place for them any more? Growing up in areas where traditional industries had died, did they find the route into incapacity benefits clearer than the route into work?

Jim Dickson, head of Lancashire's welfare rights service, agreed that something of the sort was probably happening and that it certainly related to levels of poverty in the area. "If you took the deprivation map of Lancashire and put it alongside a map of DLA claimants, you'd be looking at a mirror image," he told me. "In the old days, the disabilities were work-related. Joiners had arthritis, nurses had bad backs. I don't think that's so strong now."

Instead, there were the conditions of the jobless - depression and anxiety. The proportion of sickness-benefit claimants with mental health problems had been growing, particularly among the young. And there were other modern-day conditions too - ADHD, Asperger syndrome, asthma - all found predominantly among the young and often among the poor.

After my visit to Lancashire, I spoke to Frank Field, the MP for Birkenhead and a former minister for welfare reform. Field, a leading proponent of the view that benefits should help people into work, argued that within Britain's poorer communities, it was not only sickness that was being passed down through the generations. Communities were also passing on their knowledge of the benefits system. "We are healthier as a nation, so there can't be a terrible, plague-like epidemic among those on benefits. There's something else going on," Field said. "There are different groups of young people. Some of them are struggling. Others have no intention of working, but the system accommodates them."

The rising levels of sickness benefit among the young required attention from the government: "These figures are very challenging, and the government has to look at them seriously," Field continued. "It isn't in a young person's interests to be on incapacity benefit - it affects their life chances."

I wondered what would become of Daniel, who was growing up in one of Britain's poorest areas with the odds stacked against him. He had almost every risk factor - he did not have any qualifications, he had been dependent on benefits from an early age and he already had health problems. When I met him, he was about to embark on a course for vulnerable youngsters at his local college. But after that, what next? Would an employer be willing to give him the support and encouragement he so obviously needs? Or would he end up, like his mother before him, with little to look forward to but a life on disability benefits?

Some names have been changed.
Fran Abrams is a journalist and author.

This article first appeared in the 16 November 2009 issue of the New Statesman, Dead End

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Inside the minds of the Isis murderers

As pressure on the terror group who claimed responsiblity for the Manchester attack intensifies, the threat to Britain will only become more acute.

The police and security services had consistently warned that a significant terrorist attack in Britain was inevitable. Yet no warning could have prepared us for the horror of the suicide attack on the Manchester Arena on Monday night. Twenty-two people were killed and at least 60 were wounded as they were leaving a concert by Ariana Grande in what was the most deadly attack in Britain since the London bombings of 7 July 2005, in which 56 people died.

Like the London bombers, the Manchester suicide attacker, Salman Ramadan Abedi, was British. He was 22, lived in Manchester and studied business management at Salford University before dropping out. He worshipped at Didsbury Mosque. The son of Libyans, Abedi is said to have returned recently from a visit to the North African country, where Islamic State has a foothold.

Ariana Grande is a former children’s TV star who made her name on channels such as Nickelodeon. Her fan base is overwhelmingly young and female, and many of those killed or wounded were children, including Saffie Rose Roussos, an eight-year-old girl from Leyland, Lancashire.

Islamic State inevitably claimed responsibility for the massacre, dismissing the victims as “crusaders”, “polytheists” and “worshippers of the cross”. This is not the first time Islamist terrorists have targeted children.

A Chechen jihadist group calling itself ­Riyad-us Saliheen (meaning “Gardens of the Righteous”) took more than 1,100 hostages, including 777 children, in a school siege in Beslan, Russia, in September 2004. In the event, more than 330 were massacred, including 186 children. Gunmen from the Pakistani Taliban also stormed a school in 2014, killing 148.

For terrorist actors, these are neither whimsical nor irrational acts. Contemporary jihadist movements have curated a broad and expansive intellectual ecosystem that rationalises and directs their actions. What they want is to create an asymmetry of fear by employing indiscriminate barbarism to intimidate and subdue their opponents into submission.

We have grown accustomed to a wave of terrorist attacks being carried out in the name of the self-styled Islamic State ever since the group’s official spokesman Abu Muhammad al-Adnani began prioritising them in 2014. (He was killed in an American air strike on Aleppo province in Syria in August last year.)

The US-led coalition against Islamic State has weakened the terror group in its former strongholds of Mosul in Iraq and Raqqa in Syria. In response, IS has been forced to concentrate more on what it calls “external operations” – by which it means inspiring its sympathisers and operatives to carry out attacks on Western countries. Indeed, al-Adnani encouraged the group’s supporters not to migrate towards IS-held territory but rather to focus their efforts on attacks in their home countries.

“The tiniest action you do in the heart of their [Western] land is dearer to us than the biggest action by us,” he said in an audio statement released last year. “There are no innocents in the heart of the lands of the crusaders.”

Islamic State refers to its strategy as “just terror”. Its framing places culpability for attacks on Western states on these nations themselves by claiming that IS actions are a response to aggression or assault. That much has been outlined in the group’s literature. “When will the crusaders end their hostilities towards Islam and the Muslims? . . . When will they recognise that the solution to their pathetic turmoil is right before their blinded eyes?” the militants ask in the IS magazine Dabiq. “Until then, the just terror will continue to strike them to the core of their deadened hearts.”

IS offered a rationale of this sort as justification for its bombing of a Russian commercial aircraft – Metrojet Flight 9268, travelling from Sharm el-Sheikh in Egypt to St Petersburg. That attack in October 2015 killed 224. Similar reasoning was offered for the attacks in Paris the following month in which 137 people were killed, in a series of co-ordinated, commando-style gun and bomb outrages across the city.

“Revenge was exacted upon those who felt safe,” IS declared in Dabiq. “Let the world know that we are living today in a new era. Whoever was heedless must now be alert. Whoever was sleeping must now awaken . . . The [caliphate] will take revenge for any aggression against its religion and people, sooner rather than later. Let the ­arrogant know that the skies and the lands are Allah’s.”

***

Through my academic research at King’s College London, I have ­interviewed scores of Westerners who became foreign fighters in Syria and Iraq to quiz them about their motives. Last year, one man from High Wycombe who had joined IS told me that it wanted to attack British targets in response to the vote in the House of Commons to extend British air strikes against IS targets to include sites in Syria (the British had only been targeting the group in Iraq until that point). “Do they [the British government] expect us to sit back and do nothing? ­Idiots,” he said.

In this respect, IS frames its attacks as acts of “revenge” and predicates its response on the Islamic principle of qisas, which is comparable to lex talionis or the doctrine of “an eye for an eye”. Qisas was always intended to be a tool of private redress for an individual or his/her family to seek justice in matters relating to bodily harm. Typically, it relates to cases of murder and manslaughter, or acts involving physical mutilation (say, leading to loss of limbs). The principle creates a framework for retributive justice.

The contemporary Salafi-jihadi movement has adopted a particularly innovative approach to the concept of qisas in two ways. First, groups such as IS have taken the idea and construed it in a way that justifies indiscriminate terrorism, such as the attack in Manchester. They argue that qisas has a political dimension and that it can be applied to international affairs in a way that holds civilians responsible for the perceived crimes of their governments.

Second, qisas is normally applied only in cases where the aggressor is known. IS, by contrast, holds every citizen-stranger of an enemy state responsible for the actions of his or her government. Thus, when it released its statement claiming responsibility for the Manchester attack, it said that it had struck against a “gathering of the crusaders . . . in response to their transgressions against the lands of the Muslims”.

It is this militaristic construction of qisas that allows IS to rationalise the bombing of a venue where large numbers of young girls had gathered to watch a pop concert, dismissing them as “crusaders”.

This is not new. In 1997, Osama Bin Laden told CBS News that “all Americans are our enemies, not just the ones who fight us directly, but also the ones who pay their ­taxes”. His rationale was that all Americans, by virtue of citizenship alone, are vicariously liable for the actions of their government.

Just a few years later, Bin Laden used the same idea to justify the 11 September 2001 attacks and also invoked it in reference to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. “The blood pouring out of Palestine must be equally revenged,” he wrote. “You must know that the Palestinians do not cry alone; their women are not widowed alone; their sons are not orphaned alone.”

IS used the concept most dramatically in January 2015, when it burned alive a Royal Jordanian Air Force pilot, Muath al-Kasasbeh, whose plane had crashed in its territory. A video of the killing was circulated on the internet and social media. The group claimed his bombing raids had killed civilians and that it wanted to punish him with “equal retaliation”, in keeping with qisas.

What is well known about al-Kasasbeh’s murder is that he was burned alive inside a cage – but that is not the whole story. To understand how IS tethered this to the principle of qisas, it is the end of the gruesome video that is invested with most significance. After al-Kasasbeh has died, a truck emerges and dumps rubble over the cage. It was claimed this was debris from a site he had bombed, thus completing the “equal retaliation” of returning like for like. The idea was that IS had retaliated using the two principal forms in which a missile attack kills – by fire or debris.

***

The Manchester attack came on the fourth anniversary of the brutal murder of Fusilier Lee Rigby in Woolwich, south London. Rigby was killed by Michael Adebolajo and Michael Adebowale in the middle of the afternoon on a street outside a military barracks. That attack was in keeping with a pattern we have become increasingly accustomed to in Europe: an unsophisticated plot that employs ordinary, everyday items – a car, say, or a knife.

The consequences of such attacks have been seen across Europe, most notably in Nice on 14 July 2016, when 86 people were killed during Bastille Day celebrations after a jihadist drove a truck into crowds on the promenade. Similar attacks followed in Berlin, Westminster and Stockholm.

The security services find that these murderous attacks are extremely hard to disrupt because they typically involve lone actors who can mobilise quickly and with discretion. The Manchester attack was different. Explosives were used, which means the plot was inherently more sophisticated, requiring careful planning and preparation.

We know that two of the 7/7 bombers had previously trained in Pakistan’s lawless tribal regions, where they honed their skills. In other plots, such as the connected attacks in London and Glasgow Airport of 2007, the explosive devices failed mainly because the bomb-makers had found it difficult to travel abroad and develop their skills in safe environments. Whatever Abedi’s connections, the long war in Syria and Iraq has once again created a permissive environment for terrorist training and attack planning.

The devastating impact of this has already been felt across Europe. Since the Syrian uprising began in 2011, more than 800 Britons are believed to have travelled there to fight. From Europe as a whole, the figure is over 5,000, of which a significant number are believed to have joined IS. Of the British contingent, the security services estimate that about half have returned or become disengaged from the conflict. Of those who remained, a hundred are believed to be active, the rest having been killed.

It is improbable that Abedi acted alone in Manchester or that this plot had no international component. Indeed, he was already known to the authorities (and had returned recently from Libya). As pressure on IS intensifies across Syria and Iraq, the threat to Britain will only become more acute as the group’s sympathisers prepare for what they consider to be a fightback.

This speaks to the scale of the threat facing Britain, and Europe more generally. Our police and security services have been stretched and continuously tested in recent years. Just recently, in March, the Metropolitan Police assistant commissioner Mark Rowley told Radio 4’s Today programme that 13 plots had been thwarted since Lee Rigby’s murder in 2013. Put another way, the police have disrupted terrorist plots every four months for the past four years.

Naturally, Islamic State is not the only threat. On 13 May, one of Osama Bin Laden’s sons, Hamza, released a video, titled “Advice for martyrdom-seekers in the West”, on behalf of al-Qaeda. Hamza, 27, who was his father’s favoured successor to lead the group, called on its supporters to concentrate on attacks in the West rather than migrating to conflict zones in the Middle East and beyond. Scenes of previous ­terrorist attacks in Britain played throughout the video.

The central leadership of al-Qaeda is increasingly looking for opportunities to reassert itself after being eclipsed by Islamic State and losing control of its affiliates in Syria. It needs attacks and a cause in the West with which to revive itself. Hamza therefore cited the January 2015 Charlie Hebdo attack in Paris as a critical example, calling for the assassination of anyone deemed to have “insulted” Islam.

The Charlie Hebdo attack was especially important for al-Qaeda because it enabled the group to transcend the fratricidal conflicts that frequently define relations between the various jihadist groups. In Syria, for instance, al-Qaeda’s affiliates (when it had better control over them) and Islamic State have been in open war with each other.

Yet, the Charlie Hebdo attack brought warm praise from the group’s Islamist rivals because none of them wanted to appear ­unsupportive of an atrocity that had, as the terrorists proclaimed, “avenged” the Prophet Muhammad’s honour.

The British man from High Wycombe who joined IS told me the group had welcomed the attack for precisely those reasons. It was something that, in his view, had confirmed the “nobility” of the attackers, even if they had not been members of IS.

Is it too late for the West to save itself, I asked him. What if the West simply accepted all of Islamic State’s demands: would that provide respite?

The answer was as emphatic as it was stark: “We primarily fight wars due to ppl [sic] being disbelievers. Their drones against us are a secondary issue.”

He went on: “Their kufr [disbelief] against Allah is sufficient of a reason for us to invade and kill them. Only if they stop their kufr will they no longer be a target.”

In other words, we are all guilty, and we are all legitimate targets.

Shiraz Maher is a contributing writer for the New Statesman and a senior research fellow at King’s College London’s International Centre for the Study of Radicalisation.

This article first appeared in the 25 May 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Why Islamic State targets Britain

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